Through the Eyes of an Avox
by jennareadsandwrites
Summary: A Hunger Games AU in which Gale and Madge are reaped for the 74th Hunger Games instead of Katniss and Peeta. The story is told from the point of view of an Avox named Nika (OC) who befriends Gale and Madge while she serves them in the training center, then watches their Games as it progresses.
1. Chapter 1

They say your first Hunger Games is the worst.

I'm not a tribute, though some people say they're luckier than we are because they only have to go through the Hunger Games once. If we are considered desirable as servants, we will have to serve tributes for dozens of Games over dozens of years.

I am an Avox. Six months ago, the Head Peacekeeper in my district, Eleven, decided I'd become too much of a problem for him, that I'd publicly spoken out against the Capitol one too many times. I'd been whisked away on a train without the opportunity to even say goodbye to the loved ones I'd left behind. I could only imagine the devastated looks of my little brother, of my father, of my best friend Juniper.

When my train arrived at the Capitol, I was brought to doctors took away my tongue and, with it, my ability to speak. I was terrified. I thought they were going to execute me as a traitor, but this seemed like an even worse fate. I learned about the Avoxes, a group to which I now belonged, a group that spent the remainder of their lives serving rich Capitolites while families like mine starved in the districts. I spent the first several months serving people in a hotel-it was a big building where Capitol people liked to stay when they weren't staying at their homes. I made a couple friends among the older Avoxes, and even learned some of the hand signals they used to communicate.

I'd grown almost used to my new life when I was upheaved again, this time to be brought to the tributes' training center. During Hunger Games season, I was informed, I would work here, serving tributes while they prepared for the Games and, after that, their mentors and sponsors.

This was why I was sitting with the other Avoxes crowded around a television in the common room in our servants' quarters. The reaping was more than just mandatory viewing for us. This was the first time we'd see the faces of the tributes we would serve for weeks until they were sent off to die.

Each of us had been assigned a district weeks in advance. We would take care of all of the needs of the tributes, mentors, and escort for our district. We would do anything they asked us to do that we were allowed to do, and we would do it well. To dissatisfy your guests for the season was to be punished.

I was assigned to District Twelve, which meant that I would have to wait until the very last reaping to see the tributes I would serve. I'd hoped to be assigned to Eleven to see people I could relate to more, but perhaps it was better this way. After all, both tributes were likely to die-mine even more so, since they were from Twelve, and Twelve very rarely hailed a victor.

I sit on the couch with the others to watch the reapings, anxiously awaiting District Twelve's. I only half pay attention as the other Avoxes, those that have done this before, analyze the new tributes they will be serving. Some are trying to predict who will have a shot at winning, but others are just watching and hoping that their tributes will not be too unfairly demanding. Usually only the Career tributes are any trouble, I'm told.

Afternoon arrives, and with it comes the District Twelve reaping. I don't pay much attention to the usual procedures that every district goes through-the speech about the rebellion and why we have the Hunger Games, the introductions from past victors. I notice, though, that District Twelve only has one surviving victor to mentor. His name is Haymitch Abernathy, and he appears heavily intoxicated. I will have to serve him as well as the tributes.

Finally, a woman dressed in a garish amount of pink takes the stage and introduces herself. Effie Trinket. She seems less than pleased that she was assigned as the escort for Twelve, the least desirable of the districts. My home District, Eleven, has a poverty level second only to Twelve.

As the Capitol camera scans the crowd, I look at all of the malnourished children that could not possibly stand a chance in the Hunger Games, and I think, _Please, just let it be someone who has a chance._

In the ridiculous Capitol accent I've grown used to being ordered around by, Effie Trinket announces, "Ladies first!" and strides over to the girls' reaping bowl. There are many, many slips of paper in it. Without much concern, she plucks a slip of paper from the bowl and goes back to the microphone to announce the name. "Madge Undersee!"

There is a collective gasp from the crowd, and I watch as it parts for a small blond girl in a fancy lavender dress that appears to be worth more than my entire family could earn in one year. She's about sixteen or seventeen, and I find myself relieved that she is not one of the skin-and-bones twelve-year-olds that crowd the square. To her credit, she doesn't cry as she takes the stage, but she looks stricken.

The mayor, seated at the right of the stage, looks on the verge of tears. I'm confused for a moment before I remember it was mentioned that his name is Undersee as well. It must be his daughter. I think about how slim the chances were that a mayor's daughter, who would have the minimum amount of paper slips possible with her name in the bowl, would be reaped. I suppose this proves that no one is safe from the reaping.

As the crowd recovers from the shock, Effie Trinket walks over to the boys' reaping bowl. She digs her hand around in it a little, then pulls out a slip of paper and walks back to the center of the stage again. "Gale Hawthorne!"

This time there is loud crying almost immediately. It sounds like it is coming from a small child from the spectators' section. A sibling, probably. A strong-looking young man makes his way to the stage. He must be eighteen. In his worn clothes that are gray with the coal dust that appears to stick to much of Twelve, he appears to be from the poorest section. He probably had his name in dozens of times for the tesserae his family must have desperately needed. He is lean, but not as thin as many of the others. He holds his chin high, looking defiant as he makes his way to the stage. _Gale Hawthorne,_ I think. _He looks like he could actually have a chance at winning._

The newly reaped tributes exchange glances, and it appears as if they know each other. The girl, Madge, allows her fear to show now, but the boy, Gale, has a stony, unreadable expression.

They shake hands, followed by mandatory applause from the crowd, and are led off the stage by Peacekeepers as the ceremony ends. The seal of Panem appears on the screen, and then it goes black. There will be a review of the tributes who were reaped today on television later for the Capitol citizens, but now we must get back to work preparing the quarters for our guests, who will be boarding trains soon.

As we all get up to leave, my friend and fellow Avox Shay glances at me. She's probably five or so years older than me, with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes. She is beautiful, really, and smart, but it does not matter to the Capitol people who order us around. To them, we are less than the dirt on the bottom of their bright-colored shoes.

Shay raises her eyebrows at me. _What do you think?_

I shrug in response. I am not feeling very talkative right now, not after seeing the faces of the tributes I will spend weeks serving before they are sent off to die.

I leave the room, headed to District Twelve's floor to make the last beds that Madge Undersee and Gale Hawthorne will ever sleep in before they are sent into the Hunger Games.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake to a loud bell tone that summons the Avoxes to get up for work every morning. Once it stops, our chambers are filled with silence as we dress for work.

I share a room with three other female Avoxes, one of whom is Shay. She looks troubled as she heads out to make last-minute preparations on the fifth floor, where the District Five tributes will be staying until the Games. She must be thinking of the last Hunger Games, in which both of the tributes she'd been assigned to were killed.

We are not permitted to use the elevators, and our main living quarters are in the musty sub-floor, so I prepare myself to climb the many flights of stairs that lead to the twelfth floor. I'm running late, so I run up most of the way, and by the time I reach my destination my lungs are aching.

I've been told the District Twelve tributes are to arrive around midday, so I double check that all of the rooms are in order as I left them last night before setting the long glass table in the dining space with the gleaming silverware and glasses and embroidered napkins. The rest will be left to the chef, Paolo. He is not an Avox, but he is a good friend of ours and often sends down the best leftovers from Capitol clients' meals when our boss, Philomena, is not around to scold him for it.

With the rest of my time, I clean the floors and make sure there is an adequate supply of cleaning supplies in the maintenance closet, as well as enough towels and other items the tributes, their mentor, and their escort will need. As I close the closet in one of the bathrooms, satisfied with its contents, I hear the elevator ding as it reaches the floor.

The District Twelve tributes have arrived.

I stand by the entrance to the main room, as I've been instructed, to receive any commands that my guests may have.

The escort, Effie Trinket, barely glances at me as she passes by in a flurry of light blue fabric, drawling on about the wonderful view they will have, being on such a high floor. I don't even think the tributes are listening.

The mentor, Haymitch, appears even more inebriated than he did during the reaping, and I catch a strong smell of liquor as he passes by, also without regard to me.

The blond girl, Madge, looks tentatively around the room, her eyes glancing past me before heading down the hall towards her own room. I notice that her eyes are red and swollen.

Gale, the other tribute, barely takes a few steps past the elevator. He takes in the lavish surroundings critically, his eyes landing on me. He turns to Effie, who is lingering by a window, looking out at the bustling Capitol. "What is she just standing there for?" he asks quietly, as if I can't hear him.

She looks over at me, then waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, her. She's an Avox. They're servants, former traitors against the Capitol. They have their tongues cut out, so they're mute. She's here to serve us during our stay."

He looks over at me again, his eyes catching mine after hearing traitors against the Capitol. I remember his rebellious expression at the reaping, and wonder if we have anything in common. I bow my head in respectful greeting, and he looks away.

When the conversation doesn't continue further, Effie says, "Lunch should be served shortly," loud enough for the others to hear her down the hall. Then she adds, to Gale, "Why don't you go see your rooms? They're even better than the ones on the train. And change, maybe? You've been wearing those filthy clothes since the reaping."

Gale skulks down the hall in a huff, without responding to her.

A bit later, I hear a small, high-toned bell ring, indicating it's lunchtime. There's a kitchen on every floor, and I am fortunate enough to have Paolo as the twelfth floor chef. I bring out pitchers filled with beverages to the table first, noticing that Haymitch and Gale are both conspicuously absent. The two women sit beside each other on one side of the long glass table, making polite but awkward conversation, as I bring out the first course.

"See if you can get the other two to come to lunch," Effie instructs me. "I can't get either of them to come out when I call for them."

I nod, then head down the hall. The first closed door I meet is the mentor's chambers. I decide to pass it for now. Chances are he's in a drunken stupor anyway.

The door at the end of the hall is almost all the way closed, but not quite. I knock quietly, and am met with a semi-hostile, "What?"

I push the door open a bit more and find Gale sitting on the bed, scowling. His expression lifts a little when he sees me.

"Sorry. I thought you were Effie again."

I point outside the door. _Lunch._

He shakes his head. "I'm not eating with them."

I notice he's cradling one of his hands in the other. The knuckles on his right hand are red, and one of them is split and bleeding, as if he's punched something hard. I take a few steps closer, motioning to his hand.

He looks down at it, as if he'd forgotten. "Oh, that. It's fine."

I walk to the adjoined bathroom and return to him with a bandage, cloth, and healing ointment. I take his hand, and am surprised when he doesn't pull it away. He lets me dab at the blood on his knuckles with the cloth, then spread a bit of the ointment on it. As I press a bandage to his hand, he looks up at me. "Traitor against the Capitol, huh? What'd you do?"

I turn away, returning the ointment to the bathroom and throwing the dirty cloth in a waste bin, then leave the room without another glance at him.

My next hour is consumed with getting a semi-conscious drunk from the bathroom floor into bed and cleaning up the vomit that missed the toilet. It doesn't really bother or disgust me; I've had to deal with worse things as a Capitol servant.


	3. Chapter 3

I am not called upon to serve again until dinner time.

My stomach rumbles at the aroma of fresh lamb stew as I bring it to the table. I have not yet had a chance to eat today, but chef Paolo has promised to send extra stew to my quarters once I am through with my duties for the day.

This time, all four of my guests are present at the dinner table. Haymitch Abernathy looks positively ill, his drunken stupor having worn off, and Gale looks as if he was forced to be there, but they are there nonetheless. No one comments on Gale's bandaged hand.

I remain by the doorway to the kitchen, prepared to clear the table and bring out the next course when needed.

Effie Trinket attempts to make conversation as the others dig into the stew. "The opening ceremony should be lovely tonight," she says. "I hear that District Twelve has scored a wonderful new stylist, so you shouldn't be in those dreadful coal miner outfits the past tributes have suffered."

Madge acknowledges her with a polite smile but says nothing in response, turning her attention quickly back to her stew. I've noticed that she's incredibly quiet; I don't know if that is her normal state or if the reaping has made her that way.

Gale sets down his spoon, a sour look on his face as if he's smelled something rancid. He looks at Haymitch. "You can't possibly expect me to ride around in that dumb chariot in a stupid costume and smile at the crowd like this is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Madge looks at him. "Gale-"

Now I'm sure they know each other. Maybe they're even friends.

He returns her gaze, fire in his eyes, but before he can say anything else Haymitch interrupts him. It's the first time today I've heard the victor speak in coherent sentences. "You want to live, boy?" He lets the words hang in the air for a minute before going on. "You want any shot at surviving this? You gotta play by the rules. You don't, and you piss off Snow and the Gamemakers, and they'll make sure you don't make it out of the arena."

It should surprise me that he's implying the Games can be rigged to kill certain players that displease the Capitol, but it doesn't.

Gale doesn't look surprised either, just angered. He sets his jaw. There's really nothing more he can say.

Effie is silent. This is clearly too heavy a conversation for a woman who is content to babble for hours about Capitol fashion.

It's Madge who breaks the silence. "Please, Gale. Just play along when you're on camera. You really have a shot at winning, and-"

He interrupts her. "You say that like you don't."

Madge's back is to me, so I can't see her expression, but her voice gets thick. "I don't. You know I don't. So let's not pretend, please." She wipes at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I'm not going to make it out of there. But I really think you can. So please, I'm begging you, don't lose this for Twelve, and for your family, just because of your feelings about the Capitol."

He looks at her for what feels like a long time, then nods solemnly. I wonder if it's because of what she said about his family. He gets a faraway look on his face, as if he's thinking of home. They must be important to him.

The remaining courses are eaten in near silence. As I clear the table for the last time, Haymitch demands that I procure him a bottle of white liquor, as someone has removed his room's supply of alcohol. It was probably Effie, as I remember her asking me to be sure to get Haymitch plenty of water and limit the amount of alcohol I give him.

I bring out the bottle despite Effie's pout, because I have to obey the victor's commands.

By then, the two tributes have gone off to meet with their styling teams to prepare for the opening ceremony that will occur later tonight. Effie and Haymitch sit across the table from one another, Haymitch taking swigs of alcohol directly from the bottle and Effie sipping at a cup of tea.

"He's going to be a handful, that one," Effie says, referring to Gale.

"I have no idea how I'm gonna make him seem likable to sponsors," Haymitch mutters, punctuating the statement with a belch. Effie cringes. He goes on, "Word around Twelve was the kid knows his way around a bow and arrow, but that won't get him far if he pisses off Snow."

When the four of them leave to go to the opening ceremony, I take the opportunity to clean their rooms. They are mostly tidy, other than Haymitch's, so I finish in a short time and head to my quarters for the mandatory viewing of the opening ceremony.

My normal quarters are in the sub-floor of the building, but for the duration of the Hunger Games season I will be staying in a small room on the twelfth floor, so as to be close to my guests in case they need anything in the middle of the night. The room is no larger than the maintenance closet with a miniscule bathroom attached that is barely large enough to turn around in, and I find myself missing my shared quarters. It can be so lonely living in a silent world all by oneself. At least in my room with Shay and the others I was able to have company and communicate.

I sit down on the small cot and begin to eat a bowl of lamb stew that Paolo has left for me. It's delicious, despite the fact that it's gone cold.

The small screen on the wall lights up with the Capitol symbol, and I pay more attention to my stew than the screen as the Capitol anthem blares and the chariots begin parading the tributes towards the camera. The opening ceremony has always been incredibly boring to me. The tributes ride by in chariots pulled by elegant horses, some in magnificent costumes, others in ridiculous ones. The Career tributes in the chariots for One, Two, and Four are the only ones who look genuinely happy to be there-the rest of the tributes offer wide, forced smiles and tentative waves to the crowd.

It is only when the last chariot, the one for District Twelve, comes to pass that anything is different. When they come into view, many people can be heard gasping from the crowd.

Effie was right. The new stylist is brilliant.

Gale and Madge are dressed in all black costumes that would be unremarkable if they were not on fire. I lean closer to the screen and see that yes, their costumes are _on fire,_ giving off small glowing flames reminiscent of burning coal.

Perhaps even more noticeable is that they are the only tributes not acknowledging the crowd. They hold hands, the only tributes to touch each other as well, and stare straight ahead as they are pulled past the cheering crowds. I wonder if that was the stylist's idea too, or someone's clever take on Gale's hesitance to support the Capitol's superficiality.

It goes over incredibly well, the crowd applauding long after their chariot has passed. I allow myself a small smile. _Maybe District Twelve does have a chance._


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, group training begins for the tributes.

I hear Haymitch talking to Gale about it as I set a basket of fresh biscuits on the breakfast table. Madge is present also, but she doesn't seem interested in whatever advice Haymitch has to give. She stares down at her plate, where she's pushing around pieces of sausage rather than eating them. I wonder if she has already completely given up on surviving the Games.

Haymitch seems reasonably sober, which is somewhat surprising. But it pleases me, both because he's doing his job and mentoring the tributes and because it's less likely I'll have to clean vomit off of the carpet in his room. He tells Gale, "Today's a big deal. It's the first time all twenty-four of you will be in the same room. It's just as important for you to appear a certain way to your competitors as it is to train for the actual Games. You're a good shot with a bow, right?"

Gale nods. "Yeah."

His answer catches me by surprise. How would someone from Twelve have anything to do with a bow? I don't know a lot about Twelve or coal mining, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve shooting bows. And if the Peacekeepers in Twelve are anything like the ones in Eleven, they wouldn't be too happy about someone having a weapon like that. I push the thought aside for now. Maybe he'll talk about it later, and I'll figure it out.

Haymitch says, "Don't even touch the bows in the training room."

"What? Why?"

"The Careers will spend most of the time showing off and checking out the competition. Don't show them how good you are; they'll target you from the beginning. Let them underestimate you. Spend the time learning skills you don't already have, and look for allies among the other tributes." He looks at Madge. "You too. Don't be giving up now. You can learn a lot in training that will help you stay alive."

It occurs to me that Haymitch had once been in the tributes' position himself. Coming from District Twelve, he probably didn't know much that could help him in the Games before training. I wasn't yet born when he won his Hunger Games, so I don't know anything about him or how he won.

Madge nods solemnly, but I don't think she believes what he's saying. I wish there was something I could do for her, some kindness I could show her. But I'm not allowed to interact with the tributes unless asked to.

"When it's time for your individual training session with the Gamemakers," Haymitch continues, "that's when you can show them what you're best at. No one else will know what you do in there. They'll only see the score the Gamemakers give you."

Effie trots down the hall, the last one to the breakfast table. Her elaborate and slightly ridiculous outfit is bright orange today, complete with a feathered hat and four-inch heels.

Gale was about to respond to Haymitch, but his focus is drawn to Effie's bold outfit. Madge is looking at it too.

"You like it?" Effie asks. "The color was inspired by your fiery debut last night. Everyone in the Capitol is still buzzing about it."

No one responds, but Effie seems content to leave the question rhetorical.

"See, Madge? People in the Capitol loved the fire thing," Gale says encouragingly. I'm surprised that he's upbeat for once, but it's probably mostly for Madge's benefit. "Which means we might have some luck with sponsors. That stuff can go a long way in keeping you alive."

He looks at Haymitch to confirm this, but Haymitch drops his gaze to the table, suddenly very interested in his eggs.

I wonder what made him drop the subject, until I remember: Most districts have two mentors, one for each tribute. Haymitch was the only living victor that Twelve had, so he has to split his time between helping Gale and Madge. I've heard of this happening before, and it usually results in the mentor having to pick one of the district's two tributes to advocate for to sponsors.

Which means Haymitch will advocate for Gale, because he's got a stronger chance of winning. Madge will not likely be receiving any sponsor gifts in the arena.

I look away from the table and try to tune out the rest of their conversation. I sigh, feeling sorrow for the pretty mayor's daughter who probably never imagined she would have to go through this.

Half an hour later, Effie has escorted Gale and Madge to the training floor and Haymitch has gone back to his room with a bottle of liquor. So much for his remaining sober. I just hope that he can keep it together when it counts, like he did this morning to give the tributes advice.

With the dining room clear of guests, I begin to clean the table. I bring the dishes to the kitchen, then wipe the table with a cloth and set out fresh glasses, silverware, and napkins for the next meal.

I clean the rooms again with the few hours between breakfast and lunch, wondering how Gale and Madge are doing in training as I make their beds.

The rest of the day passes by slowly. Gale and Madge are away at training late into the afternoon, and Effie and Haymitch are gone for a while too, probably out talking to potential sponsors.

It's only at dinner time that the twelfth floor becomes busy again. Everyone is back at the table, this time enjoying chicken in an orange sauce with potatoes, among other things. I notice that Gale eats incredibly fast and completely clears his plate, even after I bring him seconds. It's probably from years of not having enough food, the habit of eating whatever's in front of you as fast as you can, for fear it will be taken away. I know the feeling.

Madge, on the other hand, is barely eating anything. "It's delicious," she tells Effie when she addresses the problem, "I'm just not hungry."

Being reaped for the Hunger Games will do that to you, I imagine.

"How did training go?" Haymitch asks. Despite the bottle I saw him with earlier, he's still relatively coherent.

"The Careers are assholes," Gale replies, crossing his arms over his empty plate. "I swear, if I had to listen to that kid from District Two talk for any longer today, I would've killed him before the Games even started."

"Don't be a hot head," Haymitch scolds him. "Just ignore them and focus on training. How'd it go other than that? Learn something? Make allies? What about you?" He looks at Madge.

"It was okay," she says in a quiet voice. That's Madge, I've learned: quiet, hesitant, afraid. I can't blame her. "I learned some helpful things," she added. "Edible plants, hand-to-hand combat. And there was that girl from Eleven, we might be allies, I guess."

"Good!" Effie declares.

I vaguely remember the young girl that was reaped from Eleven. I'd paid some attention to that reaping, as it's my home district, but I hadn't recognized either of the tributes. It's a big district. I'd just been relieved that my younger brother, Ari, had not been chosen.

"I was itching to check out the bows," Gale says. "The girl from One had no idea what she was doing, shooting. But I stayed away from them, like you said. Worked on other skills."

"That's good," Haymitch says as I pour more water into his glass from a silver pitcher. "Keep it up, you two. And start thinking about what you might want to do for the Gamemakers in your private session in a couple days."

* * *

After dinner, I hear low crying noises coming from Madge's room, and I can't take it anymore. I don't think I will get in trouble for trying to help Madge; no one is paying attention to me, anyway. I gently knock on her door and slide through it, closing it again behind me.

Madge sits on her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, her eyes puffy and wet. She wipes her nose with a handkerchief when she sees me. "Hi, I, uh, I'm fine, I don't need any-"

She stops talking as I take her hand in mine and offer a small, hopefully comforting smile. I wish I could speak to her, to tell her that I believe in her. Or even just to talk to her about anything, to help distract her.

But maybe I can help distract her without having to talk. I reach into the drawer of the bedside table and take out a deck of playing cards I found there earlier. I show it to her, raising my eyebrows. _Do you know how to play?_

There's lots of different card games, of course, and they probably play different ones in Twelve than I learned in Eleven. But I've learned a lot of card games from my fellow Avoxes-it's one of the few pastimes we're allowed.

Back when I lived in Eleven, we had an old deck of cards that my mother had given my father as a birthday present one year. My father taught me a few games when I was younger, and on some nights he would play with me when he was not too tired from working in the fields. I taught my younger brother Ari once he was old enough, and on my evenings after long days of berry-picking, he would always take out the cards and put them on the table. "Please, Nika?" he would say. "Just one game before bed." Those cards were faded and torn around the edges, probably generations old, but they were our most valuable possession.

I find myself wanting to tear up just thinking about my old life in Eleven. It's been months since I've seen my little brother, and I will probably never see him again.

I turn my attention from the cards back to Madge. She smiles a bit. "I play cards with my mother sometimes, on her good days. She gets terrible headaches." She pauses, then takes the deck that I'm holding out to her. "I can show you my favorite game."

We spend the next couple of hours playing cards. Madge's tears dry, and she seems to be blissfully distracted from the horrors of being a tribute.

When I finally have to go, I pile up the cards and hand them to her, offering a smile. As I stand up and head for the door, she says, "Wait."

I pause and look back at her, confused.

"I don't even know your name," she says.

The tributes aren't supposed to know our names. We aren't supposed to interact with them like this. But I so desperately want her to know who I am, to have her know my name.

So I take a risk. I take a small notepad from the bedside table and write in small, crooked letters with the pen: _Nika._ I turn the notepad towards Madge so she can see it.

"Nika?" She asks, pronouncing it correctly.

I smile, nodding slightly. It's the first time I've heard my name spoken aloud since I was home.

I take the notepad back and scribble over where I wrote my name, so no one can tell what was written there. I show it to Madge again, hoping she'll understand.

Her eyebrows furrow for a minute, but then she gets it. "Oh. I can't call you by your name around other people, can I? You'll get in trouble."

I nod. Then I rip the scribbled-over piece of paper from the notepad, crumple it up, and throw it in the waste basket.

As I'm about to open the door to head to my quarters for the night, she says, "Thank you, Nika."

I smile, then shut her door behind me as I leave.


	5. Chapter 5

The next two training days pass relatively uneventfully. Everyone shows up to meals; Effie drawls on about outfits and sponsors, Gale complains about the Capitol's expectations for his behavior, Haymitch gives helpful but mildly intoxicated advice, and Madge quietly nibbles at her food until she can excuse herself without notice.

On the tributes' fourth afternoon in the Capitol, individual training sessions with the Gamemakers occur, and it's all that my guests are talking about at dinner.

"Alright, spill," Haymitch says as soon as he sits down at the table and I fill his glass with sparkling water. "What did you two do in your sessions?"

Gale looks over at Madge, his expression unreadable. "You can go first."

She shrugs. "I just practiced some of the things I've been learning. Threw some knives, climbed up some things, went through the edible plant simulator. Nothing special."

"That sounds impressive to me," Effie says. It seems that everything said in her high-pitched Capitol accent sounds encouraging. "I'm sure you'll do just fine."

Gale nods supportively. "Yeah, I agree with Effie."

"Now you," Haymitch says, pointing at Gale.

"I started off tying some knots and making traps, but they didn't seem too interested in that. So I started shooting the bow. They're different here, took me a minute to get used to it, but I… uh, got their attention, let's say."

I still can't read his expression. It's almost a little… mischievous.

"Got their attention _how_?" Haymitch presses.

Gale just shrugs, unwilling to provide any more detail. "We'll just have to see whether I impressed them or not when scores are announced."

Ten. That's the score the Gamemakers give Gale. It's the same as two of the Career's scores, notably the boy from Two whose servant I fear for. It's twice Madge's score of five.

I'd been watching on the small screen in my closet-like quarters, having been dismissed by Effie, but I find myself cracking open the door and peering out into the hallway once the viewing of the scores is finished. The common room is silent and dark. Everyone has gone to their rooms for the night.

I feel restless. I want to comfort Madge, as she's probably upset by her low score, but I also want to figure out Gale. There's something about him that makes him unlike anyone else I've encountered.

I spend ten minutes cleaning the already-spotless dining table before I realize what it is about him. Defiance.

The reason it stood out to me was because everyone I'd ever known was too afraid of Peacekeepers to even think about being rebellious. Everyone except for me.

I go down the hall, trying to remind myself that this is completely against the rules, but ultimately not caring. The Capitol has already taken away my family, my free will and my ability to speak. What else could they possibly take that I care about losing?

Gale's door is just a crack open, and there's light around the door frame. I knock lightly and gently push the door open.

The room is freezing cold, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's got both of the room's windows open as wide as they will go, and stands in front of one of them as he turns around to face me. "Uh, hi," he says. "I still don't need anything cleaned, or anything."

I nod. I wish I could just _talk_ to him, like a normal person. But I can't speak to him, and notes are too traceable. Anyone could find them in the trash and know I've been trying to have personal conversations with the tributes.

I push the door so that it is almost closed, like it was before. I point at him, then hold up one finger on one hand and loop the fingers on the other hand into an O shape. I raise my eyebrows. _10\. What did you do?_

"You want to know what I did for the Gamemakers," he says, without missing a beat.

I nod.

"That's interesting. You want to know about me, but you never answered my question before."

I haven't forgotten, but I look confused and pretend as if I have.

"You were made a servant because you were labeled a traitor against the Capitol. I want to know what you did." He leans back against the window sill. "Tell me your story, and I'll tell you mine."

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. There's no way to explain without words. I touch one hand to my throat and shake my head.

"Yeah, I know, you can't speak." He runs a hand through his dark hair and takes a deep breath. It's a mess, really, his hair. I'm surprised the stylists haven't gone after it by now. But maybe they're going with the whole wild-boy vibe he has about him. "Can't you write it out?"

I shake my head immediately. I might be willing to risk going against the rules to talk to Gale and Madge, but I'm at least going to be careful about it. I draw an invisible line across my throat with my index finger.

"They'll kill you," he says grimly.

I nod.

He sighs and glances out the window. "Alright, fine. I'll let it go for now. Maybe before… before I go, you can write it all down for me and I'll get rid of it somehow."

I shrug. It's risky, but it's unlikely they'll go through Gale's trash after he goes. I decide to at least consider it; I've got two days before they leave for the arena.

We stand in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly, he says, "I shot at them."

 _What?_ I raise my eyebrows.

"The Gamemakers," he elaborates, looking at me now. "At the session. I didn't really shoot _at_ them, just… _near_ them. After I got a hang of the bow, they still weren't paying any attention to me. They were too focused on the damn feast brought out for them. There was a whole roast pig, and I shot the apple out of the pig's mouth. Pinned it to the wall right behind them, inches from Seneca Crane's face." He grins, remembering the moment, and I think it's the first time I've seen him smile.

"It was a huge risk," he goes on, "but I'm probably dead anyway, so I figured there's not much risk in pissing a few people off." He shrugs. "I guess they were impressed enough to give me a ten."

I give a small nod, not knowing what else to do. It's nice to have finally got him talking.

"Back home, I was a poacher," he says, his voice low. The walls always have ears in the Capitol, as he must suspect. But he's already a tribute for the Hunger Games - what is anyone going to do now if they find out about his criminal past?

I realize, then, that we're the same. Gale and I both have very little to lose now.

"Twelve is so poor, especially my part of town, no one ever has food. Years ago, my father died in the mines, along with a bunch of others. So I went hunting to feed my family. Eventually I even caught extra to sell, once I got good." He glances around cautiously, probably realizing he's saying too much, risking incriminating others. "The woods were kind of my happy place."

I nod, but I can't relate. Anyplace outdoors in Eleven was not my happy place; especially the orchards and fields where I worked picking food. Peacekeepers were everywhere, and they were quick to punish.

Silence stretches between us. I feel a need to share a bit, after all he's told me. I point to myself, then hold up my two index fingers.

"You're from Eleven?"

I nod in confirmation. I try to think of something else I can explain now, but without words, there's nothing to tell. Only what I can show.

I turn my back to him, and lift up the back of my shirt from the hem, exposing up to my shoulder blades. I can't see my back from this angle, but I've looked at it in our old cracked mirror enough times to visualize it.

Dozens of scars, criss-crossing my back. Whiplashes, mostly, but the occasional more jagged cut from other things. Back in Eleven, the most recent ones would be red and bloody, or perhaps pink when a bit more healed. After months as an Avox, and no more whippings (I'd learned the necessity of behaving here) they would all be faded and old, a little purple or brown or pink against my dark skin.

I lower my shirt and turn back around. Gale looks stricken, but not surprised. He must know that this kind of punishment is common in the poor districts. He's probably witnessed a few.

"You were punished," is all he says, his voice flat. "A lot."

I nod. There's nothing else I can tell him right now. There are no easy hand motions to explain that I tried to hide food from the orchards and sneak it back home to my starving baby brother. On some occasions, it worked, and the smile on his face as he went to bed with a fuller stomach were worth every whiplash from the times that I got caught.

But that was just the beginning of what brought me into trouble. I found a couple other people, like me, who felt that they couldn't go on living the way our lives in Eleven were. We would meet in secret, after work hours, and exchange stories we'd heard about people who had fled the districts. The stories were few and far between, and no one knew what happened to those who did try to run away. There were legends of a hidden society existing where District Thirteen used to be, but I was pretty sure those were just stories.

I kept getting caught out after curfew. That type of assembly, especially with other known "criminals," put me even higher on the Peacekeeper's watch list. Eventually they must have deemed me too much of a problem and contacted whoever arranged to have district citizens taken from their homes and made into indentured servants.

Finding that there was nothing more for either of us to say to break the silence in which we stood, I backed away toward the door. I incline my head in way of goodbye, hoping he could somehow understand what I wished I could say out loud. _Good luck. Please try to stay on the Capitol's good side so you can win._


	6. Chapter 6

Quick author's note before the chapter-

Thank you those who have been reading, faving, and reviewing! It makes me really happy to know you guys enjoy this story, and I like to be able to interact with you guys. I am finally back to continue this story on a regular basis, so be ready for regular updates!

And do please keep reviewing to tell me your thoughts, I love hearing what you think about the direction I'm going with the characters and the plot :)

/

The next two days go by in a blur; it seems that the closer we get to the Hunger Games, the faster time moves.

A whole day had been dedicated to getting Madge and Gale prepared for the television interviews that would occur the following night. Hours were spent in their bathrooms and dressing rooms to perfect their appearances - during which I heard many protests from Gale's rooms - and then each of the tributes spent time talking to Haymitch and Effie to work on what to say and how to say it.

During this time, I was mostly bored. I prepared for and cleaned up after meals, which never took very long, and cleaned rooms that were hardly in need of cleaning. Meals were hurried interruptions between scheduled preparations, and not much conversation was had. I found myself in a quiet routine similar to what I was used to before the tributes had arrived.

The next day was similar, but the tributes had more downtime too. Since the interviews weren't set to occur until the evening, and dressing times until just a few hours before, it left Gale and Madge to wander around the twelfth floor in search of something to occupy themselves.

It was Madge who discovered the roof. One of the benefits of being on the topmost floor was that there was access to the roof, which had a small garden area, where the twelfth floor's residents were apparently allowed to go. I imagine the view and the fresh air are a welcome break from the stuffiness of these lavish Capitol rooms.

I watch and overhear bits and pieces of her quiet conversation with Gale as she leads him up to the roof to talk. She mentions that she is really scared, and just wants to talk about home.

I'm still there in the hallway when they come back down some time later. I think I startle Madge, because she jumps a little when she turns and sees me on her way back to her room. "Oh, hi," she says awkwardly. Then, whispering, to Gale, "She played cards with me the other night. It really helped to take my mind off of things." Then, turning back to me, "Maybe we could do that again tonight, after the interviews… I doubt I'm going to be getting any sleep."

I'd almost forgotten. There will be no more preparation or training days - tonight is the last night before the tributes are sent into the arena. I nod amiably - I'm more than willing to help make Madge's last night here more bearable.

"Alright, I'll join in," Gale says. "I probably won't sleep at all either. I just hope I haven't forgotten the games Rory and Vick try to drag me into." He smiles at her, but I can see the strain on his face. He's forcing it for her benefit. I hadn't heard the names he mentioned before, but I can guess that Rory and Vick are either siblings or friends. Siblings or friends he might never see again.

"We can teach you," is all Madge says, but she seems to have lost whatever peace she had temporarily found on the roof. "I should get back to my room," she adds, turning to go down the hall. "The prep teams are supposed to be here soon to get us dressed for the interviews."

"Great," Gale mutters sarcastically. After she goes, he stays for a minute, looking at me. I have a feeling he is thinking about his proposition for me to write down my story for him. Tonight is the last night that I could possibly give it to him.

He heads down the hallway to his room without saying anything to me.

Since it is between meals and the tributes are busy being prepped for their interviews, I find myself with nothing to do now that late afternoon has arrived.

I take a self-declared break, knowing none of my guests will miss my presence for a half-hour or so. Over the last week, I'd spent hours standing around waiting for requests that never came, and since figured out which times were the slowest.

I go to my tiny room and sit on my bed, the only piece of furniture in it to sit on. I take a small notebook and a pen from the top of the nightstand (the only other piece of furniture in the room) and stare at it for a long time. If Gale, a likely soon-to-be-dead young man, wants to know my story, who am I to deny him? And if I'm honest, a part of me wants to have someone know me in the way that no one has since I became an Avox.

But where to begin? Several times I write a few words on the top of a page, only to scribble them out and flip to a new one. Finally, I find the right place to begin and the pen seems to fly across the paper, like my story had just been waiting to come out.

 _To Gale Hawthorne of District Twelve -_

 _You asked for my story, so I will give it to you._

 _My name is Nika, and I am from District Eleven. Until six months ago, I was a lot like you._

 _My family was one among many who were poor and starving. Being the district that grows most of Panem's food does not give us any advantage over the other poor districts - if anything, we are treated more harshly because we are under constant watch to deter us from taking food that, as the Peacekeepers say, does not rightfully belong to us, but to the Capitol._

 _Like any other child, I was ignorant and mostly happy, despite a never-quite-full stomach. I had parents that loved me and gave me everything they could. I had friends and an imagination to keep me occupied._

 _But when I was eight, everything started to change. My mother gave birth to my baby brother, Ari, and then she got very sick. The healers couldn't help her, and she died just two weeks after he was born. Without the money from her job in the fields, we were poorer than ever. My father worked every morning from sunrise to sunset, and I had to stop going to school so that I could take care of the baby. Luckily, one of our neighbors had had a baby six months before, and she was able to feed him. But finding him clothes, keeping him healthy and calm, and later finding solid food for him proved difficult. I was still a child myself, and often left starving to give my brother whatever scraps I could find._

 _When he was three and I was eleven, I made a deal to help the neighbor with her laundry in exchange for her watching Ari so I could work. I did her laundry three nights a week and spent days in the fields picking fruits for a small amount of money. I did that for several years, practicing my writing and math that the older kids taught me after sundown._

 _But my father's pay and my meager contribution just weren't enough. I was starving, dreaming of food every night, or lying awake stroking my brother's hair as I listened to his stomach groaning in a bitter harmony with mine._

 _I began stealing a few years ago, when I was around sixteen. It felt impossible to be so close, to handle hundreds of pieces of food a day, and not be able to eat any of it. I couldn't take it anymore. At the end of each day, I stuffed what I could fit in my clothes and rushed home, hoping the darkness of sunset would be my friend. Sometimes I got away with it, and sometimes I was punished, as you saw. But the pain was worth it. Every time I made it home with some extra food, it felt like we were on the path to living again instead of dying._

 _The Peacekeepers already had me tagged as a troublemaker when I began meeting with some friends from the orchard in secret. It was young people like me, getting together to plan on ways to steal more food, and even talk about (mostly as a fantasy) how we could get out of the district and find somewhere free. But the Peacekeepers discovered our meetings, and we were punished even more. After they found us for the third time, I was sent to the Capitol to be made an Avox. They cut out my tongue and beat me into silent submission until I learned to obey. I do not know what happened to the others in my secret group._

 _Those are the events that led me here to be serving you today. I hope I have sated your curiosity enough with this one last gift before you enter the arena. I truly, truly hope that you can make it out of there alive, back to your home and family the way I will never be able to go back to mine._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Nika_

 _P. S. Do everything you can to keep this letter and all of my interactions with you a secret. I do not know how they punish continually disobedient Avoxes, but I suspect my life may depend on your secrecy. Either way, I do not regret telling you my story._

I carefully rip the paper out of the notebook, fold it into quarters, and slip it into the waistband of my pants. I must keep the letter close to me until the very second that I hand it to Gale.


	7. Chapter 7

I didn't realize how long I had been engrossed in writing my letter, but a long time must have passed because as I come out of my room, a flurry of activity is beginning. Haymitch and Effie are conversing quietly in the hall as Gale and Madge emerge from their rooms, fully dressed for the interviews.

Gale comes out first, and I find my eyes lingering on him a little too long. I hadn't realized how handsome he could be when cleaned up. He's in a suit that's perfectly tailored to his leanly muscled frame, all black except for hints of orangish-red around the lapels and cuffs. His hair has been tamed so that it looks neater than usual, but it still has a hint of wildness to it, which I suspect was kept on purpose.

Effie and Haymitch watch him for a while too. Noticing them staring, Gale says, "What?"

Haymitch just whistles. Effie says, "Ah, you clean up so well once they show you where the soap is." I don't think she meant for it to come out as rude as it sounded. Like many Capitolites, she really does have a low opinion of the poor district people.

Just as we're all getting over Gale, Madge comes down the hallway behind him. Effie actually gasps, then proceeds to dab at her eyes with a polka-dot handkerchief. "Oh, look at you!" she says.

Madge is in a flowing burgundy dress, the layers of the fabric falling all around her like a dark purple fountain. When she turns from side to side, mostly out of discomfort with all eyes of her, it seems like the fabric sparkles with light.

"Look at you indeed," Gale says quietly, as if only to Madge and no one else. He offers her a gentle smile that I've found he only brings out around her, and she blushes.

"Thanks," Madge says shyly. She blinks, and I notice the metallic makeup around her eyes. "It was all Cinna," she adds. Their styling team has certainly continued their successful streak after the chariot ceremony - they've perfectly balanced the darkish purple color with lighter accents so that Madge's gentle personality isn't lost, and the all-dark colors work perfectly on dark-haired, broody Gale.

"What's that happening to the dress when you move?" Effie asks. So she'd seen the bits of light that I had.

"Oh, that, it's-" Madge looks at her feet, uncomfortable but trying to smile. "The skirt sparks when I move. Cinna said he couldn't resist using a little more fire."

"Excellent!" Effie beams. "Gorgeous. I can't wait to hear everyone raving about it after they see the interviews."

"Which, by the way, we need to go for," Haymitch mutters, trying to usher everyone towards the elevator. "Like, now." Effie and Madge readily go in front of him, but Gale touches his arm to hold him back.

"Haymitch," he says in a low voice. "I still don't know what to say. I don't think I can do it - go up in front of the Capitol and pretend I don't hate everything it stands for."

Haymitch points around him, indicating that there are likely microphones hidden for the Capitol to monitor the tributes. "Watch your mouth here." Then after a sigh, he says, "Just remember what we talked about. Take all of that fire inside you and channel it into an acceptable topic - just talk about how you want to win to get back to your family."

Gale shakes his head a little. "I guess I can try." He glances back at me as he and Haymitch go to the waiting elevator, probably conscious of the fact that I've overheard the entire conversation.

I watch the elevator doors close around them all, and silently wish the tributes luck.

With no one left on the twelfth floor to serve, I make my way to my room to watch the interviews. I find a plate of food that Paolo must have left in my room earlier - pork and mashed potatoes and green beans, all covered in a thick buttery gravy. Cold by now, of course, but so delicious that I've already shoved a spoonful of potatoes in my mouth by the time I get settled on the bed to watch the screen light up with the seal of Panem.

I so desperately want to see how Madge and Gale perform for the Capitol crowd, the other interviews seem to drag on, even though they are not very long. Once again, I am slightly more interested in my dinner than the events on the screen, but I do notice a few standout tributes: the ruthless Career boy from Two who seems like he'd be content to jump over the couch and strangle Caesar on live television if it would help him win; the sly-looking girl from Five who seemed somehow mysterious in the way she answered questions; the small girl from Eleven, who seemed too impossibly sweet and innocent and hopeful to be a part of the Games; the hulking young man from Eleven who looked like he could rip someone's limbs off with his bare hands who tried to speak as little as possible.

Of course the Eleven tributes caught my eye; I'd been hoping, childishly, that I would get some glimpse of home by hearing them talk to Caesar. I encounter pretty much no one from Eleven in my life as an Avox in the Capitol. I don't feel any sense of comfort after seeing them - their names are Thresh and Rue, and I'd never met either of them before - just a vague homesickness and a sadness knowing that at least one of them will be dead in a matter of weeks.

And then, before I had time to get bored again, it was time for the District Twelve tribute interviews. I heard Caesar announce Madge and the crowd cheered and clapped as she made her way to the stage to sit beside Caesar, visibly nervous.

"Well, hello, miss Madge Undersee," Caesar begins warmly. Despite having a job that requires him to talk to the tributes during the most stressed-out time of Games preparation, he really does his best to make them as comfortable as possible. "It's a pleasure to have you here tonight."

"It's a pleasure to be here," she says quietly, her voice wavering a little. I think about how hard it must have been to say those words, even though she holds much less anger than Gale. Of course she's not pleased to be there; she's on live television the night before she's getting sent into a fight to the death.

"So you're liking the Capitol so far, then?" Caesar asks, although it's not really a question since there's only way she can answer it. "What is your favorite thing you've discovered here?"

Madge spends a lot of time looking around, at her skirt, at her feet, anywhere but Caesar or the camera. My heart aches for her; I can tell how nervous she is, knowing that this is one of the important events that help get sponsors on board.

"The views are like nothing I've ever seen," she finally says, a little bit of dreaminess in her voice. "We-" she actually laughs a little, "We went up on the roof of the tribute building, I don't know if we were supposed to. But the view and the fresh air from the roof gardens was incredible," she says. "So many lights."

"It is quite beautiful here indeed," Caesar agrees. He takes a moment to acknowledge the crowd, saying, "Am I right, people?" to which the crowd responds with cheers. "And speaking of lights," he says, transitioning easily, "let's talk about your fiery entrance last night. Now _that_ was some serious light. Was that real fire?"

She nods. I can see her growing slightly more comfortable, or at least beginning to manage her anxiety better. "Yeah, it was. I mean," she stumbles, "it couldn't actually burn us. The stylist made sure of that - he's a genius."

"Well, to be honest, Madge, I think it took a lot of courage to stand up on that chariot not knowing if your clothes were going to burn off," Caesar says with a chuckle.

"Oh, there was some fear for sure," she says. "But by the time we were standing on the chariot, it's kind of too late to be like, 'Hey, stop!', you know?" She smiles. I think that if I didn't know her already, now would be the time she began winning me over.

"True, true." Caesar's blue glittery suit shimmers in the stage lights as he leans a bit closer to Madge. I remember how her dress is made to spark, but she has probably forgotten to show it off with all of her nerves. "But you know what," Caesar says, lowering his voice, "I agree with you about your stylist, Madge. He's done quite well with the lovely girl he was given, because you look especially stunning tonight, I must say."

"Thank you, Caesar." She smiles and blushes, and I think I hear a few "aww"s in the crowd along with the cheers.

"Now, Madge, I'm gonna be honest with you, I can tell you're a bit nervous tonight," he says, "but that's perfectly normal for tributes. But I wanted to ask - what keeps you going, in the face of all these worrisome things coming up?"

 _Worrisome?_ I think. _Yes, imminent death is a little bit worrisome._ Madge handles the question well, though, taking a moment to think, before saying, "Honestly, I don't know. I guess we all just have to keep a little bit of a hope that we have a chance." She looks away from the camera then, and I can see from the close-up that her eyes are watering. She's likely just told a lie; I remember her saying to Gale on one of their first days here: _You know I don't have a chance. So let's not pretend, please._

"Hope," Caesar echoes. "I like that." He pauses, then looks from Madge to the camera. "Well, folks, that's all the time we get with the lovely Madge Undersee." He turns back to her. "It was a pleasure meeting you, darling, best of luck."

"Thank you," she says, her voice thick. Taking her cue, she walks off to the side she came from, careful to keep her head high until she is out of the view of the cameras.

"And now," Caesar says, alone in his chair on the stage. "We have one last tribute to welcome to the stage, and last is certainly not least in this case. Please welcome Gale Hawthorne of District Twelve!"

I take a deep breath, feeling the tightness of the air as if I was there. For a split second I worry that he is just going to refuse to do the interview entirely, and not go on stage.

But then there he is, striding across the stage to meet Caesar with a respectful handshake. _Please,_ I think, _just play nice on camera so you don't get yourself killed._


	8. Chapter 8

I've abandoned what was left of my food now, my eyes completely glued to the screen. Gale's interview could really help or hurt his chances of getting sponsors, and if he says one thing about hating the Capitol, he'll surely be killed by some mechanism of the area. Victors are highly watched celebrities in the Capitol and their home districts; it makes sense to me that Haymitch implied the Capitol will not allow someone so outwardly rebellious to become one.

I hold my breath as Gale and Caesar take their respective seats, half afraid that Gale will just forgo the entire plan and start spewing some rebellious manifesto.

But he just sits on the couch, looking fairly at ease, his hands now folded in his lap.

"It's nice to meet you, Gale," says Caesar. "I'll be honest, after seeing your training score of ten, I have really been looking forward to talking to you. As you know, we so rarely see such high scores from District Twelve. Can you give us any hints as to how you impressed the Gamemakers so?"

"Sorry, Caesar," Gale says, with a slight smirk. "That's between me and the Gamemakers."

Caesar nods, resigned, then looks at the crowd and says, "Well, folks, I tried." Then, back to Gale. "Not letting any secrets out, are we? Perhaps that's wise, to surprise your competitors. And clearly, you impressed the Gamemakers nonetheless."

"I suppose I did." Gale appears confident, easily maintaining eye contact with Caesar without, it appears, trying too hard. I wonder what I would think of him after this interview if I did not know him already - does he appear charming? Strong? Someone I would want to root for?

Caesar pivots topics. "Well, if you don't want to talk strategy, let's talk motivation. What source of motivation will drive you through the Hunger Games, potentially to the finish?"

"That's an easy one," he says with a bittersweet smile, and for a second I worry again, but then he just says, "My family. I've got a mother and two younger brothers and a sister, and they need me." He looks away from Caesar and toward the camera, and I realize he's probably trying to talk to his family, knowing they'll see the broadcast. "I'll do whatever it takes to get back to them."

Caesar does one of those slow nods he does when a tribute says something of actual substance. "That is very admirable," he says. "I do wish you the best of luck in getting home to them."

He pauses to let the crowd take in the emotional moment, then says, conspiratorially, "Is there anyone else you're eager to get back to? A girl, perhaps? I can't help but wonder if a handsome guy like you is taken."

Gale hesitates for just a second, and I can tell he's deciding in the moment what to say. He probably hadn't anticipated a question like this.

"Actually, yeah," he says slowly, looking up at Caesar. "There's a girl from Twelve, we're good friends. I've been in love with her… for a really long time." He glances at the camera again. "I just don't know how…"

Caesar feels Gale's doubt and jumps in with an idea. "Oh, I think I see. It's Madge, isn't it? Your district's other tribute? I'd heard some rumors that you two were friends back in Twelve."

Once more, Gale hesitates for just a second. "You got me," he finally says. "It's her. Now you see my dilemma."

This catches me by surprise. I'd seen Gale act friendly around her, but that was it - friendliness. I find it hard to imagine that he would reveal a love for her on live television when he only occasionally talked to her here, but maybe that was just how he wanted to play it.

The crowd "aww"s, and Caesar gives Gale a sympathetic look. "Oh, Gale, I do feel for you indeed. Talk about star-crossed lovers, right?" He turns to the crowd, and the camera does too, so I can see that they are eating this up.

"Well, Gale, we're about to run out of time, but it was such a pleasure to meet you. I think I speak for all of us when I say I can't wait to see how the Games plays out for you and your ill-fated romance."

"Thank you, it was good to meet you too," he says, a little stiffly, before exiting the stage.

"Well, there you have it, folks!" Caesar beams, turning to the camera. "We now have a little more insight into all twenty-four tributes. Who are you rooting for?"

There's a little bit more of Caesar talking to the crowd, but the screen goes black, the mandatory viewing over. I sit on my bed and stare at the screen, still in surprise. So this is the angle Gale is going to play? Strong, mysterious guy with a star-crossed love for his fellow tribute?

A little while later, I hear the elevator bell ding on the floor, and rush out to stand at my normal position. I doubt they will need much right away, but I would be lying if I said I did not want to overhear the conversation about the interviews.

It's only Gale and Haymitch in this elevator - Effie and Madge must have gotten separated from them in the crowd on the way back. "Well, you did manage to get them interested in you," Haymitch says as they step out into the hallway. "But what was that? We didn't talk about aligning yourself with Madge, especially not as a _lover._ Is it true you having feelings for her?"

I try to look around the room, as if I am not eavesdropping, but my ears are aching for the answer too.

Gale shakes his head a little, looking out one of the windows. "I didn't mean for it to happen like that. I wasn't talking about Madge, but then Caesar said it, and I ran with it. Anything to make her seem more desirable to sponsors will help."

"Sponsors will abound," Haymitch agrees. "They go crazy for that kind of thing. But how long could it possibly last? We both know that Madge -"

He cuts off as the elevator opens again, bearing Madge and Effie, but I know what he was going to say. _Madge is not going to make it very far._

Madge walks straight up to Gale so quickly that for a second I think she's going to hit him. But she doesn't appear angry, exactly, just sort of shocked and maybe hurt. "What the hell was that?" she says in her quiet but serious way. "We didn't talk about anything like that. You could have told me before blindsiding me, because apparently the whole world thinks we're star-crossed lovers now."

"It's going to win over sponsors. It's good for both of us," Gale says, but is avoiding looking directly at her.

"But it's not true, is it?" she says, getting upset. This is the most I've heard her talk at once. "Look, Gale, I'm sure you know I've had a crush on you for years. But I knew it would never turn into anything. It always seemed like you and Katniss were already together. You were talking about her, weren't you? Before Caesar said my name?"

Effie and Haymitch both stand there, baffled, letting the drama play out. I wonder who Katniss is.

"Maybe," he admits. "But as soon as he mentioned you, I had to go with it. It was too good of an idea, strategy-wise."

She shakes her head, close to tears now. "Well, I'm so glad you found a _strategy,_ but next time pick one that doesn't involve playing with my feelings before I inevitably die."

She storms down the hallway, and I hear the door to her room slam shut. My heart aches for her; so it's really Madge who has feelings for Gale, but he doesn't. He's thinking strategy, not love.

But there was something else I noticed about Madge just now. In her anger and hurt, she seemed stronger and braver than I'd ever seen before. Like someone who could stand a chance. Even if all it did was make her angry enough to fight, maybe it was a good idea after all.

Gale runs his hands over his face, through his hair. He goes down the hallway too, to his room or Madge's, I can't tell.

"Well," Effie says to no one in particular. "This has turned out to be quite an evening after all."


	9. Chapter 9

After we've overcome the shock of Madge and Gale's argument, Haymitch lumbers off to his room and Effie says, "Have the evening meal set out in twenty minutes," before moving towards her own.

The interviews have thrown off our normal meal schedule, and it's quite late for dinner, but Paolo, the chef, is still on our floor and he's anticipated the need for a meal. Soon, I am setting out hot dishes of a turkey and vegetable roast with several sides.

Effie, Haymitch, and Gale all come to the table when dinner is ready. Madge does not. No one is particularly talkative now; it has started to sink in that the Games begin tomorrow, and there is nothing light to say about that.

"Bring some food to her room," Haymitch instructs me, gesturing toward the hallway where Madge's room lies. "She'll need all the strength she can get before tomorrow."

I nod and go back to the kitchen to assemble a plate for Madge. My mouth waters; despite the lunch leftovers Paolo left me earlier, I've grown hungry.

I push thoughts of my own needs away as I go to Madge's room. Her door is closed. I knock a couple times, but there's no answer. I balance the food in one hand as I push the door open, then walk in food first and push the door behind me so that it is almost shut.

Madge is lying on the bed, her face buried in a pillow. She's in soft pants and a shirt that are probably sleeping clothes, and her beautiful interview dress lies in a discarded pile on the floor. She turns when I come in, sees that it's me, then turns back away and curls herself a bit tighter into a ball. "You can just leave the food," she says, her voice thick with tears. "I just want to be alone." She sniffles.

I step closer to the bed to leave the plate, fork, and napkin on her bedside table, where I know it will probably grow cold without being touched despite my best efforts. From this side, Madge's back is to me, and I reach out to touch her shoulder.

She doesn't react at all. Doesn't say anything, doesn't even move to look at me again. Her body shakes slightly under my hand. I remove it and slowly back out of the room, trying to respect her wish to be alone.

Back in the dining area, my other guests have mostly finished with their meals. I clear the dinner dishes away and bring out dessert - an assortment of small cakes and pastries that end up mostly untouched. Effie picks off pieces of a pastry and Gale takes half-hearted bites of a doughnut, but no one seems particularly hungry anymore. It's one of the most somber meals I've ever observed, and between that and seeing Madge so forlorn, I feel an incredible sadness pressing on me. My mind keeps going back to the beautiful blond mayor's daughter whose life has been ruined. I feel powerless, the way I felt when I was being whipped in Eleven; like I'd failed at helping someone I care about.

"You have to stay focused," Haymitch says to Gale, seemingly out of nowhere. "You can try to bring Madge in as an ally to go with the lover scheme, but don't get so caught up in watching out for her that you forget yourself."

Gale, who had been looking at his plate, looks up at him with aglare. "How can you say that? She'll never make it without me."

There's barely a pause before Haymitch says, "There's only one winner." He takes a swig from his wineglass, which appears much too dainty for his large hands. I realize that he has no visible scars from his Games - few Victors do - and wonder why. "And believe me, Gale," he goes on, "it could really be you. But you have to stay focused on how to get yourself to the finish line. Anything else is a distant second priority. No exceptions."

He shakes his head and looks away from Haymitch, but I think that he's realizing that Haymitch is right. It's not possible for both of them to make it out - which means Madge is probably going to die no matter what he does. He has to look out for himself, first and foremost, but I don't think he's willing to leave Madge to fend for herself, either. Like me, he wants to offer whatever kindness he can to her in her last days.

Eventually everyone grows tired of sitting in silence and pretending to eat desserts, and they all go back to their rooms. I busy myself cleaning up the dishes, trying to decide if I should check on Madge again or just leave her alone. Surely, our plan to play cards is not in place anymore, but I could at least offer some companionship if she would accept it.

I am about to head down the hallway to see if Madge is alright when I see Gale crossing the hallway to enter Madge's room. He doesn't notice me watching, and closes the door behind him.

I turn around and go back out into the main living space. Of course Gale and Madge have a lot to talk about between the two of them, and I should not hinder their conversations by trying to insert myself into them.

I'm not really their friend, I remind myself, like a hard slap in the face. I am nothing. I'm a voiceless stranger who is forced to serve them until they leave tomorrow morning for the worst days of their lives.

I wake up the next morning in a panic when I feel paper pressing against my side. My letter to Gale. He was still in Madge's room when I went to bed last night, and I never got the chance to give it to him. It's possible the tributes could have left before I awoke - I might be too late -

But when I step out into the main floor, I see that there is no light coming in through the windows. The sun hasn't come up yet, but I can see light streaming from under everyone's doors, and faint chirpy voices of styling teams as they get the tributes in their Games clothing before departure.

So I'm not too late. But I'll have to find a way to slip the letter to Gale without anyone noticing, which will be difficult. I can't exactly walk into his room and just hand it to him in front of his styling team.

I wander around the kitchen area, trying to think of something to dot. I stumble upon a tea tray, and think that maybe that's how I'll do it - I'll bring a tray of tea and snacks in to the tributes, and somehow sneak the letter to Gale when I go into his room.

I quickly heat some water in a teapot and set it on the tray along with teacups and some pastries I find in a container in the kitchen. I carry the tray down the hall to Gale's room, where the door is slightly ajar, and let myself in.

I set the tray down so that it makes a noise loud enough for someone to notice, and one of the prep team members turns and looks at me. The fact that her eyes and hair are both bright orange is a bit shocking to me, even though I've seen many of the odd Capitol trends before. "Ooh, tea and pastries!" She says, plucking a scone from the tray. "Let's take a break, all. Gale's about done anyway."

I pour hot water over a tea bag in one of the cups, and while no one is looking, reach into my pocket to get the letter. I've folded it very small so that it will fit in the palm of my hand, then easily under the teacup on the saucer, invisible.

Two more prep team members come out of the dressing room, followed by Gale. He is in his Games clothes already - pants, a shirt, and a light jacket all made of similar dark, sturdy fabric - and looks less than pleased to be there. But when he notices me holding a teacup out to him, we lock eyes, and he must remember the letter he asked me to write, because he takes the teacup without protest.

I want to stay and make sure he gets it, but I have finished my job, and the prep team glances at me, waiting for me to leave. The rest is up to Gale now; I'm confident he's smart enough to get the note without anyone noticing.

I return to the kitchen and fill another tray like the first one. I go into Madge's room to set it down on a table, but no one notices or comes out of the dressing room. I hear the lighthearted chatter of the prep team, but nothing from Madge's voice. I want to go in and express my support, but it's not my place to interrupt. I will at least get to see her on the way to the elevator as she leaves.

I am not sure what there is left to do, but it takes another half hour before I hear doors open, and everyone seems to come out at once, as if it was scheduled. Perhaps it was. The prep teams find their own way out, off to wherever it is they came from, making their way to the back elevator in a flurry of bright colors and bizarre fabric.

"Come, now," I hear Effie's voice call as the rest of the group shuffles down the hall. Her tall pink heels make a clicking sound on the floor with each step. "We're just barely on schedule. We have to meet the hovercraft on the landing pad in five minutes."

Haymitch stumbles along behind her, looking exhausted, drunk, or both. Madge is behind him, in the same outfit I saw on Gale earlier. Her blond hair is pulled back into a tight braid, and her solemn eyes are glued to the floor. I try to meet her eyes, but she won't look at me.

Last is Gale. I watch him closely, waiting for a sign that he has gotten my letter. He seems awfully focused on the journey to the elevators, but as he passes by me, we meet eyes for just a moment and he nods almost imperceptibly.

I've done it; I've done my very last job for the tributes. I've gotten Gale my letter.

I almost wave to them as they go before I remember that I am not supposed to communicate with them. I've become careless in my concern for them; I must start following the rules again once they leave, though the rebellious part of me has been stirring again since I met Gale.

Instead of acknowledging them, I just watch as the elevator doors slide closed, taking the Gale and Madge out of my view for the last time before I will see them on the television screen.


	10. Chapter 10

Several hours later, the Games begin.

In the meantime, I occupied myself with tidying the rooms. Effie and Haymitch will continue to stay here during the duration of the Hunger Games, but will often be gone talking to potential sponsors.

But now, with nothing to do, I sit on my bed, my whole body tense as I stare at the screen on the wall. The capitol symbol lit up a few moments ago, followed by a short introduction. But there will not be a lot of talking on this broadcast. Everyone is eager for the Games to begin - whether with excitement or dread.

The sixty second countdown begins, the number of seconds showing in the corner of the screen. I feel my heart pounding, which is probably ridiculous - I'm not in any danger. But as the camera pans around to show the tributes on their pedestals, I see Gale's stony expression and Madge's shaking hands, and I fear for them.

The gong goes off, and the view on the television switches between cameras to show many different angles of the suddenly chaotic scene. Many tributes rush towards the Cornucopia in the middle of the starting area, where all of the supplies lay scattered around it, but others run immediately toward the woods. I remember overhearing Haymitch say something to the tributes about this at a meal once: _It's not necessarily a good idea to go right into the bloodbath. If you want my honest advice, it's safer to run in the other direction._

I struggle to pick out Madge and Gale among the rushing images. The cameras focus on the Cornucopia, where the action is beginning - those that were the first to reach the weapons and supplies begin to use them or try to run away. A commentator is talking over the footage, but I'm barely listening until I see Gale's body run across the screen.

" _It looks like Gale Hawthorne from District Twelve is making his way to the Cornucopia"_ the man on the screen comments. " _He's decided, like many others, that the weapons and supplies are worth the risk."_

The image switches to one of a large Career boy stabbing a long knife into the chest of a dark-haired girl who holds a backpack in one of her hands. A cannon sounds - the first death - and her body crumples to the ground, eyes still open in shock and fear. " _Looks like we have our first death,"_ the commentator says in a neutral voice. " _I believe that's Viola Travis, District Nine. Alas, one tribute's journey ends, but it's a step closer to victory for whoever the winner will be."_

The camera switches to the boy who stabbed her - he's the blond one from Two, the one I remember Gale complaining about. He doesn't even look at the body of the girl he just killed, but looks out at the scene around him, looking for someone else to attack. " _And this Cato from District Two seems promising indeed. He's certainly shown his ability and willingness to take out his competitors."_

The Hunger Games has always seemed barbaric and disturbing to me, but I can already tell that this particular Games is going to impact me more than usual. I find tears pushing at my eyes. That dead girl could have been Madge.

Finally, the camera switches back to a wider angle, and in the middle of the screen I can see Gale again. He's right up on the Cornucopia, and I wonder what would have possessed him to go in so far - he's strong, but he must know how easily he could die - when I see what's shining in his hands. It's a silver bow. Possibly his ticket to winning.

But he's not the only one who wants it. He's grappling over it with a blond girl who I recognize as one of the Career tributes. In the corner of the screen I see another body fall, and more cannons go off, but I am only watching Gale and the Career girl.

Eventually he's able to wrest it away from her and land a blow to her face with his elbow. It gives him enough time to grab the sheath of arrows, stand up, and run away from the Cornucopia. On his way, he bends to pick up a dark blue backpack, and I can see it before it happens: the small dark-haired Career girl from Two with a knife in her hand, bending her arm back to throw it -

Gale stands up to run just in time to avoid the knife piercing his skull, but it makes contact with his leg, and sticks. I watch as he stumbles - the commentator notices it too, and wonders aloud if the promising Twelve tribute will be taken out so early - but he quickly recovers and runs toward the treeline. The tribute girl sends another knife flying his way, but it sails past him, and then I watch as she turns to deal with another opponent.

On the wide shot of the starting area of the arena, all I can see now are the bodies. There are at least half a dozen of them that I can see scattered around the Cornucopia, covered in blood. Now that I can't see Gale or Madge, I bury my face in my hands. _They're just kids,_ I think, the images of their broken bodies stuck in my mind. _And so are the people who killed them._

By now, the big beginning clash has begun to die down. There are five or six Career tributes grouped around the Cornucopia, probably having formed an alliance with each other. I've seen it before in many Games - they work together to take out the competition, then turn on each other. There's no one else around the Cornucopia anymore, except for the bodies of the tributes they've killed.

The screen splits into four smaller ones, each showing a different area of the arena, focusing on different tributes. One stays focused on the Cornucopia, where the group of Careers stand around talking to each other, occasionally looking around them for potential enemies, of which there are none, or picking through the supplies that are left around them. Everyone else has fled the starting area to look for a safe place elsewhere in the arena.

The other three small screens flick between footage of various tributes, most of whom are alone and running. I'm about to take a break to get food from the kitchen, bored, when I see a familiar blond braid in one of the shots. She's jogging, with no supplies on her, but no apparent injuries, either. The screen switches to focus on a different, red-headed girl before I can get a very good look, but it's enough for me. It was her. Madge is alive. Gale is alive, but injured. They've both made it through the first, most dangerous few minutes.

With Haymitch and Effie still gone and no one to serve, I spend most of the day keeping tabs on the Hunger Games. There are mandatory summary shows in the evenings, but there is live footage being shown all day. Normally, back home, I would watch as little as possible, wanting to keep the violent images out of my mind, but now I keep my eyes glued to the screen, hoping for any image of Gale or Madge.

For the most part, I am disappointed - with so many tributes to focus on, the cameras constantly move between images and only stay on each tribute for a few minutes at a time. Most of the tributes spend a large part of the day running or walking, looking for a safe spot to take shelter.

Finally, I catch a glimpse of a limping Gale, the silver bow and arrows slung over his shoulder along with a backpack. He must have made it a long way by now, and the adrenaline has worn away to pain from his wound. As the camera zooms out a little, I realize with a shock that the knife is still in his leg. He stops walking and leans against a tree, leaning around his own body to try to get a better look at the wound on the back of his leg. Even as he does this, he keeps glancing around, watching and listening for any potential threats. I remember that he used to hunt animals in his home village; he must have been good at it.

He takes the backpack from his shoulder and digs through it. The commentator calls off the supplies he can identify: " _It looks like Gale has gotten his hands on a decent pack. Hmm, let's see - that looks like food of some kind, and a water bottle, an extra jacket-"_ The commentator stops as Gale takes the bottle and the jacket out, apparently not concerned with looking through the rest of his supplies.

Usually the camera would have switched by now, but the fact that Gale is trying to deal with his wound is probably interesting to the Gamemakers or whoever else decides who gets screen time.

He opens the water bottle to check for water - and surprisingly, it's full. Often, the Gamemakers leave the tributes only with empty ones, but perhaps since he found the pack so close to the Cornucopia, there were better supplies in it. But when he raises it to his mouth to drink, he makes a face after the first swallow, then stops to look at it more closely. Clearly, it's not water.

Suddenly I'm worried - would the Gamemakers really have poisoned a tribute this early in the Games?

I don't know how the microphones pick up his quiet voice mumbling to himself, but I hear him say, "Alcohol. Why-?" He shakes his head and actually laughs, and I feel my own body relax. Gale is probably thinking what I am - Haymitch would get a kick out of this.

But then he looks down at his leg, then back at the water bottle, and something clicks in his head before I realize it. With his free hand, he unceremoniously pulls the knife out of his leg, stifling a cry of pain, and then pours a small amount of the alcohol over the wound, right through the rip it made in his pants. He throws his head back, eyes closed and teeth gritted, but manages not to make any loud noises that would alert nearby tributes.

He doesn't really have time to sit and care for the wound much more. He takes the knife that was in his leg, wipes the blood off the blade onto his pants, then uses it to cut a strip of fabric from the bottom of the extra jacket. He ties the fabric tightly around the wound on his leg, and, satisfied, shoves all of his supplies back into the backpack, except for the knife, which he sticks into his belt.

" _Looks like he's made it for now,"_ the commentator says before they switch the camera. " _He was clever to recognize and use the alcohol, and to keep the rest of it instead of dumping it. Many tributes die of natural causes in the arena, including wound infection."_

Just before they move on from Gale, I watch as he looks around and makes a four-toned whistling noise. It's risky, I think, but I suppose other tributes could think the noise came from a bird. I can't tell what he's trying to do, but apparently he hasn't found whatever he's looking for, because he starts walking again.

The screen changes to show a girl who had fallen from a tree she was trying to climb. She appears to have injured or possibly even broken her foot. It's clearly not Madge, but I still feel my stomach turn as the commentator says, lightly, " _Poor thing, she won't make it far now. This just goes to show the importance of training for the tributes - those who didn't learn to climb in their home districts find it harder than they expected once in the arena."_

I lean back against my bed, thinking about how long of a day it has felt like already, and it is not even over. Not that the tributes are guaranteed restful nights, either - the next couple of weeks until a Victor is crowned will be exhausting for them.


End file.
